Shattered Dream
by Empiric
Summary: Ten years later, the true adventure is about to begin! Based on a real D&D game. Chapter 19 up. Back after long Hiatus.
1. Prologue: Dream Shards

I'm telling you that I don't own Wizards/TSR/or D20 This is based on one great campaign I played. I have permission from the other players to use their characters ************************************************************************  
  
A burning piece of lumber fell from the rafters, the first to fall from the immolating roof.  
Felisto knew something was going on outside, but he no longer cared. The time for caring was over for him, his days as a defender of the meek no longer mattered. The people he had once saved now hated him; and nothing he could do would change that. Reality seemed distant as he listened to the massacre outside the inn's window, listening to the screams of horror as the dead he once strove to defeat now feasted upon the living. Soon the walls would begin burning as the undead flailed around, knocking down torches, dodging fire spells. Such misery outside those walls, but such misery was nothing compared to the anger and fear that now welled up inside of him. He lay there on the bed, barely breathing and wallowing in self pity. He shifted his left hand to reveal the tattoo that bound him to the god that had chosen him; the god that had promised life. Not the death that surrounded him now.  
The amulet of Pelor fell from Felisto's hands, hitting the ground and bouncing once. twice. and lying there amidst the golden chain that once held it around the Paladins neck. Such a thing was trivial now, as the burning sensation became stronger.  
"You wallow in remorse but you know the way out of this situation. Simply follow me. Follow me to the edge of your world. There we will find redemption. Your god has abandoned you, but mine will not. We will go together and prove that you are still blessed by the gods, albeit different ones."  
The Paladin stared at the cloaked figure in the corner of the room, the one who had been beckoning him when he started this rampage of terror. This creature. whatever it was had the power to see into his soul; and despite the lack of an evil aura, it still held a sense of danger. From beneath the hood of the creature's cloak nothing could be seen, just a darkness tinged red by the building burning around them. It was always at the corner of his vision, watching and taunting, beckoning. He knew that nothing would remain the same should he follow the dark cloaked creature. He could stand around, watching the town burn with his atrocities, burning like his own mind; or he could join this creature and see what lay beyond the simple sun, embracing the dreams that were hinted at. The cloaked creature, the dream beckoner stepped into the center of the room, the edges of the cloak ethereally passing through any object they came across, and halted.  
A hand reached out from beneath the cloak, one ravaged by ages, covered in bandages at least a century old. Felisto reached out, and took hold of the hand, feeling the chill as it touched more, as it touched his soul. The creature withdrew its hand, and turned about slowly, reaching up to draw away the hood that covered its features. The hood dropped, revealing the bandages upon bandages that covered the mummy's body.  
"You will come now, and I will show you the way unto life. You will help me in my quest, and draw your powers from my god. Like I, you are now a cleric of Il'Laquar, goddess of dreams. Goddess of the silent dead. Now come, we must find more that require salvation."  
  
**************** The town burned that night, and by morning the dead were gone, leaving behind a single grave, covered with the symbol of Pelor, on which was attached a golden amulet on a golden chain. The gold glittered in the breeze, and reflected the light of the newly risen sun. 


	2. Song of Freedom

Meet one of the main heroes in our story in this upcoming chapter! *Don't worry; I will get back to Felisto. ************************************************************************  
  
"And then what Daddy?"  
"The town of Havel was never seen again, and the dark paladin went on to become a Dream Warden of the dark goddess. But as for his further adventures, that will have to wait for another night."  
The little girl pouted and crossed her arms in front of her; she hated it when her father did this in the middle of a story. Sometimes it would take a whole week before she could get him started again; telling her about giant beanstalks and fairy creatures. She fed on his stories as if they were her bread and butter; and nothing could sate her hunger for adventure.  
"I don't believe that story is true daddy, I asked you to tell me a true tale!"  
"I told you one that is truer then can be imagined. So, why don't you go and get washed up and go to bed. Mommy will be back in a couple of days, and Omra will come with her."  
The little girl's face lit up with a gigantic smile, dispelling the air of resentment around her.  
"And the sooner you go to bed, the sooner tomorrow will come so you can say hello." The reaction was immediate, the little girl ran off into the back of the house, her long hair trailing behind like a ribbon caught in a breeze. The father smiled, and than tended to the fireplace, and lost himself to the memories.  
  
*******************  
The fires of hell had no fury like the fires that engulfed the town that night. He was there, with the rest of his band. They were performers, he the storyteller, another was a master of tricks and illusions, while others were acrobats and jugglers. He had grown up with the performers, learned how to palm coins and snatch a few wallets, but it was all over in an instant when those fires and those corpses came to claim them. He had barely escaped with his life into the woods when he became tired and had to turn around. He knew his life was over for him then, as everything in the town went up in flames.  
He met the Paladin when he came into town, even snatched a few coins from him then, and he knew the stories that surrounded him. "That is the mad Paladin; he claimed several innocent lives barely a week ago at Southmill." The pointing and whispering appeared to be too much even for the man of Pelor; for that was the night he set fire to the village, claiming all but one. He knew that if the Paladin knew he were alive, that he would be hunted down, and he lived in fear of that for many years until he settled down with a half-elf maiden, and had a quarter elf daughter.  
*********************  
The flames had died down in the fire long before the father had noticed he had dozed off. He would have found himself in full sleep if someone had not knocked at the door.  
"Come in, it's unlocked."  
Before he had a chance to react the door swung full open, and standing beyond was a cloak, and barely visible beneath it, was a face so close to death that it gave the father chills. Omra stumbled into the house, her cloak falling back as she lurched forward, practically falling into his arms. Her sharp Orc features seemed jumbled together amidst the long deep scars and bruises that now covered her face; and the shaft of a single arrow protruded from the back of her neck. The wounds were so deep and discolored that the father couldn't figure out what attacked her; it was amazing she was alive.  
"Master Sethor. the lady Maier. she was taken"  
"Shhh. don't overexert yourself Omra, who attacked you?"  
"The Gavenrild. Those thieves. called her Orc lover. told her that I belonged to them. She fought back. They took her and left me for dead saying something about.Gilleston port."  
Omra began to lightly sing something in her native tongue Sethor was once told was a song of freedom of her race. Sethor took up the tune, adding into it a hint of magic, hoping it would take hold to allow Omra to rest. Omra fainted into Sethor's arms, losing all semblance of consciousness. Sethor called for his daughter. She came immediately, and when she noticed Omra on the ground in a growing pool of blood, began to cry.  
"This is not the time, you remember what I told you to do if anyone came into this house needing medical attention?"  
The daughter nodded.  
"Good, go to the temple of Pelor and tell them it is an emergency. I will not be home when you get back. When the clerics take her back to the temple, you are to tell High-Priest Inestron that you are to stay with Omra and learn to take care of wounds. He will know the reasoning behind it. Go now little Kelia, and don't come back without help from the temple."  
Kelia ran out of the house, tears streaming from her eyes, but a look of determination across her face.  
Sethor ran over to the fireplace and removed several loose cobblestones. He removed a rapier, several days' rations, his limited spell book, and the money to hire mercenaries from the compartment, and then replaced the stones. Everything was flashing by in his head at a quickened rate.  
"If I don't come back the church will take in Kelia, giving her the estate when she reaches maturity. Omra will most likely live..."  
He continued talking to himself as he left the house wide open and went to the stables, placing everything in the horse's saddlebag. He grabbed the animals reigns and ushered it into the yard, mounted it, and rode it off into the moonlit night. ******************************************  
The town was in an uproar the next morning as the church announced that a family was attacked during the night. One individual knew however that this was the thing that Sethor needed, and continued to hum to herself the song of freedom. She had sung it when Sethor freed her of the bondage of slavery, and now she weakly sung it, knowing that Sethor was now on the path to be freed from his past. 


	3. Nightmares' Beginning

Once again, as a reminder, I do not own D&D/Wizards of the Coast/D20/or TSR All characters are used with permission of the games DM and the players who created them. ************************************************************************  
  
The dreams came more constantly now, almost every time Felisto closed his eyes. The dreams. those dreams of endless sunsets along the golden beaches of eternity, the dreams of a life no longer filled with death. These dreams led him further south; side by side with the being that was now called the teacher. The mummy, this "teacher" showed him how to lose his mind to those dreams, to give himself wholly over to Il'Laquar and her designs. Through dreams he now saw most of his life pass by, watched as he gave both mind and soul to the intangible force that was his new god. His teacher approved.  
"You have shown improvement in your studies fallen one. You have learned to give yourself to goddess of the silent dead, and now I think it is time for you to be initiated into her order. It is now time to become one of her clerics, not a mere acolyte."  
The mummy now sat on a stone nearby, his voice rasping from the ages that had overcome his body. It carried a stave the length of his body, covered with the scales of a shark in order to increase the ripping power.  
"I will do as you wish"  
The stave suddenly came up, stopping mere inches away from Felisto's nose.  
"You will do as the goddess wishes and nothing else. You have forgotten yourself for a moment, and I suggest you not do so again." The stave came down. "Now listen closely. You were once a powerful Paladin, yes? You realize by now that your god has stripped you of your powers. It is time however for that emptiness to be filled, time to know what I know. The powers of a Cleric of Il'Laquar are within your reach."  
Felisto braced himself as the Mummy stood and turned his back to him. The mummy stood silently for a moment, taking in the environment around him. now or never.  
The mummy turned around and gripped Felisto by the neck. Without armor or weapons he was defenseless, and the mummy's hands defied all attempts of breaking the grapple. The world became blurry as the smell of the mummies bandages set in, the smell of embalming fluid and dust mixing together, destroying Felisto's will to struggle.  
Then the mummy rot set in.  
Felisto's body started to dry out, losing all traces of moisture. His hair dried and became brittle, eventually falling out. His nails grew and chipped, decaying in a matter of seconds once they hit the ground.  
Felisto passed out, and from in his mind, this peace was better than none.  
  
*******  
The light of Pelor shone brightly at the end of the tunnel ahead, the light of the gods seemed to welcome Felisto.  
The light went out, replaced with a coldness that forced Felisto's soul to shiver in spite of no longer having a body.  
A new light appeared. and the chill became worse.  
The planes of existence soared beneath Felisto as his spirit was dragged towards this new light, and the chill became worse. The darker regions of the netherworlds passed by as his soul went onwards, and eventually he recognized the light, it was Hades.  
Still his spirit sped along the astral planes, despite his attempts to stop, despite the sounds of screams and cries of anguish. His spirit went on. into the abyss. 


	4. The New Dream

This chapter may help put things into perspective time-wise. for those who may be wondering. Pardon the spelling for Inestron; imagine it with a French accent (En - est - roh) ************************************************************************  
  
The murals along the wall were faded with time, but Kelia continued to examine them, attempting to reveal the story her father had begun to tell her barely a week before. She had just recently found the room, hidden among the vaults used by the priests of Pelor as meditation chambers. She was overcome by awe as she opened the door and found the large chamber, with every available surface covered in paint telling this story. Below each scene of the mural were letters written in the language of the high elves, giving a more detailed description of what was going on in the pictures.  
"As his spirit fled from this life to the next, he felt peace. But, when he noticed that the new light led him to Hades, he wailed in despair, a wail so pitiful even the mortal realm could hear it."  
Kelia was surprised at the voice, and turned around to see a man dressed in a white wool robe with gold trim, with an amulet of Pelor around his neck.  
"I am sorry High-Priest Inestron. I did not mean to peek where I did not belong."  
"You most certainly did, and I am glad you found this room."  
Kelia's eyes lifted from staring at the floor, examining Inestron's jovial features.  
"Why High-Priest? What is here that I would need to see?" Inestron's features grew cold, but quickly returned to their previous expression; modified now to show a little annoyance at the question.  
"Child, you must see everything in life. Nothing should be hidden from you, specifically not this room. Do you know the story?"  
"Some of it."  
"Well let me continue it for you."  
Kelia sat down on the floor in front of Inestron. This caused the High-Priest to raise his eyes.  
"Your father told you how to appreciate a good story. I expect nothing less of the old bard."  
"Thank you."  
Inestron looked about the room, shrugged his shoulders, and sat down in front of Kelia.  
"Now then, Felisto's spirit finally did stop hurtling through the planes of existence, only to find himself in the court of a goddess of the dead, Il'Laquar. The goddess had been a very strong one until she was killed by Vecna, at which point most of her powers were absorbed by the other gods. Since she was dead, she escaped from the underworld into Hades, and re-established herself as a goddess. Since all the dead must pass by her to communicate with the living, she was called."  
"The goddess of the Silent dead."  
"Yes, anyways, she gave Felisto much of her power, but one thing she didn't think about was that she couldn't get Felisto back to life where she was, and only very special spells can bring somebody back when they don't want to be brought back."  
"But then why did Il'Laquar give Felisto her powers if he doesn't want to use them and come back?"  
"The dreams that conquered Felisto in life also fought with him in death. Wherever he goes he dreams of someplace better. He fights the urge, but if he were to come back to life, the dreams would have full control of him again."  
"How does daddy know this story?"  
Inestron grinned, and directed her attention to the ceiling of the room. The mural on it showed a bard fighting a shadow with a rapier in front of a tombstone carved with the image of Pelor. The figure in the picture looked familiar.  
"Daddy?"  
"Yes. Your father was an orphan and lived in the town destroyed by Felisto. He went back, looking for survivors and fought desperately against the fel creature that guarded the pendant. He retrieved the symbol of Pelor, and did the service of returning it to this temple. For that we gave him the farm lands you live on."  
"Why doesn't daddy believe in Pelor after all that?"  
This struck Inestron as a hard question to answer.  
"Because Pelor let down Felisto, and Felisto destroyed what he used to love. I guess your father doesn't want to put his trust in any god now. He doesn't want to lose faith like Felisto and destroy what he loves."  
"And why doesn't Orma believe in Pelor"  
"Little child, you are so full of questions. Thankfully that is easier to answer. She believes in the goddess Neros, of the new wind. The orcs have few gods apart from Gruumsh, and most of them represent chaos in its many forms. Neros however, advocates change because it leads to creation, unlike Gruumsh who uses chaos as a method to wage war."  
"And where is Omra now?"  
"She has gone with one of our clerics to join your father."  
"Something big is going to change. Otherwise why would she get involved?"  
Several thoughts raced through Inestron's head, most of them involving how he could have missed that important fact. Omra had told him she had thrown the pebble, and he had no idea what that meant at the time. Inestron stood ungracefully, his robes a mess around him.  
"Innocence allows you to see much child, keep it as long as you can. Go rest, in two days I want you to come with me and the other Clerics to the hidden temple in the great forest. A chain of events is being set around us and I want to make sure nothing happens to you. Now go. shoo."  
Kelia left the room, skipping along on unseen air. Inestron stayed behind.  
***************************  
When Inestron was finished with the wall, nothing remained of the old mural but shards of painted plaster. A new mural revealed itself behind the old one, grotesque in its visage. In the mural a hazy being with eyes shut held up an amulet towards the sun. The sun seemed indistinct, out of focus behind painted clouds. The world behind the being was painted grey, like the grey wastes of Hades; and the lands before him were drained of color. This was what the Oracle who painted these walls had foretold; hidden from the other members of the order until now. The light will be vanquished, and the haziness of the dream will overcome. Inestron wept for his soul as well as Kelia's. 


	5. The Youth, The Alchemist, and the Monk

Meet more party members in this chaper!  
  
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"I am sorry, but I cannot be held responsible for a youth on my journey. There is to much danger involved already, and I cant guarentee the safety of anyone."  
  
The youth looked down at the book he had laid on the table, his eyes holding back a rain of tears. Sethor rolled his eyes and sighed, wondering where the childs parents were.  
  
"But I am a good mage! My master told me last week that I am capable of living on my own and that my magic was formidable. Please take me along sir, please!"  
  
"You are whining, oh powerful mage. I have no need of a mewling child where I am going, especially one that whines. Now leave me be so I may pack up and be ready to leave this hellhole by morning."  
  
The youth stood up, his chin raised in the air, a pouting expression on his face. He picked up his book and walked to the door, back straight and with long, angry strides. He stopped at the door, and looked over his shoulder momentarily.  
  
"I think I shall leave you with a gift, you bastard."  
  
The young mage started to weave the spell, hands moving back and forth in a rythmic motion. He opened his mouth to begin the quick incantation to release the energy.  
  
"NO"  
  
Sethors entwined his yell with the counterspell prepared while the youths back was turned. The youth lost his concentration and was flung backwards through the door by the force of the energy released by the incomplete spell. Sethor could hear the youth break down and cry, running down the hallways, down the stairs. The tavern occupants down below did not take pity on the child, the sounds of laughter started when the youth reached the floor and died down long after Sethor supposed the youth had left. He hated to do this to the boy, but there was no other choice. The mercenaries in this town were of a poor sort, none of them could even hold a sword straight. Sethor shook his head at the child, who probably WAS formidable; at least in these backwaters.   
  
Sethor concentrated on the candle in the center of the table, and sighed. At one point he had been that young, but that was long ago. Had it been different circumstances, he could have been that youth clamoring to go on his first adventure. But that was long ago, and a youth was not what he needed for this journey.   
  
"I thought bards were supposed to be Charismatic? That was almost downright cruel."  
  
Sethor looked up, and chided himself for once again losing himself to his remorse. In front of the broken door stood a heavyset human and a wiry gnome, each one wearing plain traveling clothes.  
  
"We are when we have things going our way. There are only so many ways of telling a town of commoners that 'Sorry, you are to weak to come with me in my jounrey.'"  
  
"Well than, since we are travelers here, much like yourself, I hope you will tell us something slightly different."  
  
"Please sit down then."  
  
The heavier human sat down in the chair, the gnome stood slightly to the side. Sethor took a quick appraisal of the two. The Heavier man was obviously wealthy, as the cloak he wore was made of Pegasus hair; and as he spoke he moved his hands very nimbly. Stealing another glance at the hands Sethor could see callouses across the fingertips of each one, and several parts of the hand were slightly discolored. This man worked with poison.  
  
When Sethor tried to take a quick glance at the gnome he was met with a powerful stare from powerful brown eyes. He quickly returned his attention to the heavier man.  
  
"Anyways, my associate and I were at the Wanderers Inn where you put up that mercenaries wanted sign, and decided to follow you. We figured you would be wanting cheap mercenaries who dont draw attention to themselves since you're going through this backwater town."  
  
"Actually Im heading towards Gilleston port, which requires me to go through these backwater towns, but I still require cheap mercenaries who dont draw attention to themselves."  
  
The human and the gnome looked at each other. The gnome nodded his head and the heavier set mans face lit up.  
  
"We were heading in that direction anyways. While we arent the cheapest mercenaries, we will be happy for the company on the way over there, and travel is safest in numbers." The heavy set man reached out his hand across the table. "My name is Relevon and this is my traveling companion, the monk Striosis. Shall we go onwards towards Gilleston together than, if nothing else?"  
  
Sethor took the hand and shaked it.  
  
"If nothing else."  
  
After some money exchanged hands the two mercenaries left the room, stepping through the gaping hole in the door. Sethor grinned in spite of his earlier dissapointment.  
  
"At least the journey over will be interesting."  
  
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"Are you sure this is the way to go?"  
  
The other rogue nodded. The forest surrounded them on all sides, and Gilleston port wasn't far. The rogues used the port to sell all their goods, and the Dwarven counsel who ran the port never asked questions. Gilleston was the main port that shipped supplies to and from the Dwarven mines in the distant mountains, and they didnt need the trouble.  
  
The rogues were lost however.  
  
"Seriously Kyle, I think we are lost, are you sure you know where we are going?"  
  
No answer. Pesos looked around.  
  
"Kyle you fool, where did you go?"  
  
One of the prisoners in the back of the wagon screamed.  
  
"Shut up back there, you're creeping me out. KYLE!!!"  
  
No answer.  
  
Pesos realized that there was complete silence. Not even the insects made any noise.  
  
"KYLLLEE!"  
  
"I dont think he is going to answer you."  
  
Pesos turned around just in time to see a stave slam right into his stomach. He doubled over, pain shooting from one end of his body to the other. The stave would not detach itself from him, as the shark scales that covered it ripped deeper into his flesh. He looked up to see a bandaged hand reach out from a robed creature, and lightly touch him. The creature took the stave and ripped it out of Pesos's stomach, leaving a large, angry looking tear across his abdomen. The blood around the wound began to suddenly dry. Then the skin around the wound. Pesos could see his insides drying out and turning to dust.   
  
Later, whtat remained of Pesos was picked up by a light breeze, and drifted across the forest floor. The cart full of prisoners was nowhere to be seen. 


	6. The Silent Goddess

After this chapter will be a brief intermission, where refreshments will be served and you will get the first bonus for being such good readers, one characters game stats! Also, pardon the spacing on Chapter 5, I'm writing this using three different computers and I used Wordpad to write Ch.5. ****************************************************  
  
The world was grey, and Felisto's soul reflected that reality. There was no color, and through the days of wandering Felisto had lost all color as well, even the astral pools no longer seemed bright and cheery. Caught between the dreams and the grey, Felisto despaired, and cried out for help, but he was adrift in the planar currents. The dreams reached out for him, but their grip was never strong. Eventually Felisto could see the mouth of the great ephemeral river he now floated along, and saw it was the maw of the underworld. He welcomed this respite, hoping that true death would end his suffering. Than the dreams came, and took hold of him for one last, final tug. Before Felisto could reach the mouth of the river of souls, he was dragged out by the dreams, and then he lay there on the shore. Gasping for air, Felisto looked around, and saw grey; nothing but grey. Nothing but grey and a rock..  
The rock had not been there before, and Felisto crawled closer to it, feeling nothing with his ethereal body. He was naked, but did not feel the elements, felt nothing but the grayness of the land around him. His despair increased, but still he crawled towards the rock, fixing himself on the only object which might provide him shelter, and salvation. As Felisto drew closer the rock grew bigger, proving to be a mountain now, riddled with caves and dark intentions. He could feel the dreams again, and they beckoned him forward, ever towards the caves.  
When Felisto reached the caves he crawled into the nearest one and blacked out, going into sleep to deep even for his dreams to call him..  
The temple Felisto had crawled into was immense, and spirits drudged single-mindedly through it towards the great altar in the center. Built into the side of the mountain, it was well hidden from mortal eyes in the land of Hades, but it lit up like a beacon to those who no longer lived. Like the rest of Hades the temple interior was drained of color, but in addition was a deathly silence. Neither footstep nor word made a sound. Even the wails of the dead were silenced within the hallowed walls. The temple itself consisted of a large central chamber in which the ceiling was a portal to the astral plane, and in its center stood the Goddess of the Silent Dead. The corpse of the Silent One was a mere skeleton, residing on an altar in the center of the room, grasping the greataxe and harp that were her weapons in life. Long silver hair spread out from her head, reaching towards the walls, spreading around the room. The floor had been overtaken long before with the hair of the dead goddess, and now it crept up the walls, spreading like a vine from the deepest layers of the abyss. Spirits flitted about the room at the beck and call of the goddesses mind, receiving orders for when they may speak to the land of the living. This was the port to the mortal worlds, and the goddess controlled it.  
Felisto woke up much later, and found that he had almost been devoured by the sea of hair. He trudged onwards towards the center of the temple, and eventually reached the altar. He laid himself down at the base of the altar and took to the sleep his dream state now ordered him to..  
He no longer dreamed the peaceful things that bound him to the goddess. Now he was in her domain, and she controlled the dreams. Over time she showed him how to use her magic, gave him the powers of a cleric, but no more. Her spirit appeared to him many times to give him assurance that he was doing well, that he will grow stronger in time. 'The other gods will know if I create an equal, instead the power must be siphoned to you from the dreams. Gain strength as a Cleric in the mortal world and greater power shall follow.'  
She showed him her vision of the future. He was to gather the twelve books of lore she had hidden while she was alive, and use its magic to redirect the portal the spirits used from Hades. She was a dead god, that much would never change, but if the portal were reversed the immense power of Hades would spill out upon the planes of existence, and her power would grow. All would have to bow to the silence, and all would face the grayness that now permeated her world. Not even a god was immune to the grays, and all would feel the soulful pain she now felt.  
Il'Laquar felt no hatred, no guilt. Just remorse for her lost life. Just the pain she wished to share with the rest of the world. Her soul was crying out in suffering, a suffering she would share with the rest of reality. 


	7. Intermission Character Profile: Sethor

Bonus for all the Reviewers, take a look at the stats for one of the adventures characters (As the story progresses I may update a character sheet, so check back occasionally to see what the characters are up to if the story may hint at them gaining a level! Also, the further in, the more interesting the characters will be for the character sheets):  
  
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Sethor Ironhearn  
  
Class: Bard 7  
  
Race: Human  
  
Alignment: CG  
  
Level: 7  
  
Deity: None  
  
Size: medium  
  
Age: 35 (was 15 when he fought shadow for pendant)  
  
5'9" Male with green eyes and brown hair, somewhat tanned skin  
  
Statistics:  
  
Str: 13(+1) Dex: 17(+3) Con: 12(+1) Int: 18(+4) Wis: 14(+2) Chr: 19(+4) (Initially was rolled high, used +1 bonus at lvl. 4 on Chr)  
  
Hp: 7D6 (Assumed Max HP for story purposes) 42 Hit Points  
  
AC: 16 (+3 Dex, +3 Armor)  
  
Initiative: +3  
  
Saves: Ref:+8Fort:+3Will:+7  
  
Melee Attack Bonus: +6Ranged Attack Bonus: +8  
  
Skills:Balance +8, Bluff +14, Climb +6, Concentration +11, Decipher Script +14, Diplomacy +14, Knowledge (Arcana) +9, Knowledge (Religion) +9, Listen +12, Perform (Storytelling) +14, Spellcraft +14, Use Magic Device +9, Pick Pocket +8  
  
Feats: Weapon Finesse (Rapier), Dodge, Mobility, Spring Attack  
  
Bard Abilities: Bard Spell List/Bardic Music (Inspire Courage,Countersong,Fascinate, Inspire Competence, Suggestion.)/Bardic Knowledge (+11 bonus)  
  
Spells Per Day: 0 lvl-3, 1 lvl-4, 2 lvl-3, 3 lvl-1  
  
Spell List: 0 lvl- Dancing Lights/Daze/Detect Magic/Ghost Sound/Light/Read Magic  
  
1 lvl- Charm Person/Erase/Sleep/Ventriloquism  
  
2 lvl- Whispering Wind/Daylight/Detect Thoughts/Tongues  
  
3 lvl- Charm Monster/Wind Wall  
  
Equipment: Rapier/Buckler/Leather Armor/ Backpack/ Several days trail rations and water/ Tent/ Sleeping Roll/ Travelers Outfit/ Torch x5/Rope (Hemp)/2 platinum, 300 gold, 30 silver, 18 copper/Broken Lyre/Book of Stories (Spellbook)/Map of Fenrahi Mountain Region with outlined routes to Gilleston Port.  
  
Pelors Golden Ray (Ring, Minor Artifact Item)   
  
A ring that is made of pure gold and given only to those who perform a service for the church that cannot be repayed except for by a blessing of Pelor. This ring was given to Sethor for returning the Amulet of a Fallen Paladin and providing the news of the Paladins betrayal to the church. When rotated around the finger the ring produces a golden light as if by the light spell for a fifteen foot radius, and can be stopped by rotating the ring back into position. This light also acts as a circle of protection against undead, preventing all undead (Including greater undead such as mummies and Vampires) from entering the area of light, repelling undead within the area if they are already inside the radius. (The circle cannot be pushed against Undead creatures otherwise the effect will end.) The ring constantly provides a warmth ability as well, giving the wearer cold damage reduction 5/-- and negating cold weather effects. Unknown to all but the High Clerics of Pelor, the ring also allows the Deity Pelor to extend his sight to the wearers location at will, and also also allows the Deity to speak with the wearer should the need arise. Needless to say, Sethor has no idea about any but the warmth abilities of the ring. The title of Golden Ray is also bestowed upon those who wear the rings when they visit a shrine of Pelor. 


	8. Dark Conversations amidst the Seraphim

Time to introduce yet ANOTHER element to the story (For those of you keeping track that makes four different threads in this pattern). This one wont last long however... By the way, next chapter is the first Dungeon Crawl/ True Action Section. If I misspelled the monster name later in the chapter, don't worry, I'm aware of it and it will be fixed soon. ****************************************  
  
Maier knew she was in way over her head when the strange creature took control of the wagon. The Horses seemed scared of whatever it was, and before the night was over they had broken free of the reigns, running off into the night. This forced the creature to use its magic to propel the wagon forwards, always towards Gilleston. The other prisoners were to out of it to notice the bandages beneath the robes; too involved in their own little slave minds. She decided to make an attempt to talk to this new caretaker.  
"I asked 'who are you'! It is impolite to ignore others."  
"It's impolite for a slave to talk to others as if they are an equal."  
The voice struck Maier as unusual, it was dry and low, making her think the robed man was sick.  
"I'm not a slave. Those Rogues you dispatched back there captured me when I tried to defend an Orc servant of my husbands. I swear to you I am of High birth."  
The robed person stood still, the horseless wagon stopping with it.  
"High birth?"  
"Indeed, I carry no mark of the slaves' brand, nor have any of my relatives."  
"We are all slaves to something oh High-born one. Sometimes, as in this case, we are slaves of fate."  
At this the robed creature started to walk forward again in his ungainly, crippled pace, magically dragging the slave wagon with it.  
"I don't believe in fate, I don't like the idea of something controlling our dreams and ambitions."  
The robed creature kept walking on, sharing a secret smile only with itself. Il'Laquar was right when she announced that fate would provide the materials he would need to finally put her plans into motion. All Shereth had to do now was go to a special temple in Gilleston, one converted for Nerull's purposes; and find the ancient Dwarven Rune that was hidden there. Dwarven Magic was one of the most powerful in its primal form, consisting of merely nothing but a symbol. The symbol Shereth searched for would allow him to commit an exchange: one soul for another, ripping one from the dead and imbuing it with life stolen from the other. Only those of the purest blood could be sacrificed for the magic to work; those who still had magic flowing freely through their veins.  
"My name is Maier, what is yours?"  
"My name wa. is Shereth Torianos"  
"What are you to do with me?"  
"We shall see. Once we get to Gilleston I will sell these slaves to any who would be interested. I will also subject you to a test to make sure your claims are true. If not, I will find one of the darkest pits in the city and cast you down into it to starve for talking out of place."  
There was no joviality in Shereth's voice, and Maier thought for a moment that joy had no place in his speech anymore.  
"You sound sick."  
"Sickness passes, oh High-born one. My ailment will last me for eternity as long as I grasp to this shell of life. Now sleep young one, for this wagon will not last the entire journey and we must be at Gilleston before the celebration of the Scythe."  
"Why?"  
Shereth's voice took on a harder tone. He knew he could not hide this knowledge from her once he got into the city.  
"Because it is when the priests of Nerull are at their weakest and it is the proper time for magic related to death. The full moon will stay out for an entire day, draining the world of its life, giving life to the darkness. It is the best time for sacrifices."  
"Sacrifices of what?"  
"Of the innocent. Now sleep child, nothing more can be gained by talking other then several lashes from a whip."  
Maier tried to stay awake and ponder the answers given to her questions, but the lids of her eyes suddenly became heavy, and before long she slept soundly, unable to hear Shereth laugh as they left the Seraphim Forest and Gilleston Port came into sight.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
"So this is the famed Seraphim Forest, home of the Angel Bough Tree. You know Striosis, I heard that the Angel Bough can cure the venom secreted by demons?"  
Sethor ignored Relevon's inane comments and continued riding his horse closer to the forest. So much for interesting, Striosis never talked; and Sethor imagined he never would even if Relevon decided to shut up for more than a minute.  
"So Bard, have you heard any interesting stories about this forest?"  
Sethor rolled his eyes. If Relevon wasn't talking he was asking Sethor to tell a story, or sing a song, or perform something on his broken lyre.  
"Not now, perhaps later Relevon."  
"Always later, never now. Ah well, anyways Striosis, as I was saying.."  
  
Once the trio entered the forest, light became a commodity. Striosis seemed to have no problem finding his way, however Sethor and Relevon did not have quite the same luck.  
"Damn Angel Boughs. The leaves absorb all the light coming into the forest and leave little for those traveling within it. Now, where did my sun sticks go?"  
Sethor could hear Relevon rummaging around with his bag, pushing aside the various objects that had settled there over time. The darkness was starting to make him nervous, and he never could get used to everything being so quiet.  
"Ah, here we go, now lets get this little sucker lit."  
Sethor could hear the snap that signified that activation of the sunstick, and a harsh golden light illuminated the area in front of him.  
"Well that's an interesting tree."  
Sethor looked in the direction Relevon was pointing. Sitting at the edge of the now illuminated glade was a tree with a trunk several hands wide that dwarfed the surrounding trees. The trunk reached high above the Angel Bough branches, rising beyond the line of sight.  
Relevon's eyes went wide.  
"Can we leave now?"  
"Whats wrong?"  
"That" Relevon pointed again. "Can we leave now?"  
Sethor could see several objects flitting about the branches. They were the size of a ball, and as the light penetrated further into the canopy, Sethor realized they were human heads. Long, thick, greasy tendrils that resembled hair ran from the top of their heads, and sharp fangs glinted in the darkness.  
"Stay and fight. They will follow if we leave and it gives them a chance to coordinate an attack." Muttered Striosis. Sethor looked at him critically, and then nodded.  
The Vargouilles swooped down, hovered in the air examining the new prey, and went in for the strike. 


	9. Fighting Amidst the Seraphim

Hrmmph. No new Reviews, ah well, I'll just blabber on for a couple more chapters and if I don't get a review or so I'll go write it out on paper and archive in that little portion of my brain I may call on whenever I DM for others. Also, the 1 review I got for my Card Idea in MTG site was taken to heart and I'm taking it off the site. If I can convince a friend to let me on his site to post it and its continuance I may give the site address later. anyways, time for some action!  
  
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The Vargouilles darted back and forth in front of the party for a few minutes before initiating the attack. There were five of them at first estimate, but Sethor knew that there would be more should any of them escape to warn the rest of the flock.  
Sethor ducked in his saddle as a Varg charged towards him, nearly grazing the top of his head. He stood raised, and turned around to the best of his ability. The Varg was right in front of his face, teeth bared as it grinned from ear to ear. A slim, fast moving object came in from the corner of Sethor's vision, piercing the Vargouille and skewering it on a nearby tree. Sethor drew his rapier, and turned towards the rest of the party. Striosis was standing on top of his horse, fighting off two Vargs with his hands and feet, knocking them down only to have them bounce right back off the ground. Relevon was reloading his crossbow, looking around erratically for the missing Vargouilles.  
Sethor saw one of the missing Vargs float slowly down behind Relevon, making no noise to alert its intended target. Relevon continued to fiddle with his crossbow, obviously unaware of the blood sucking fiend behind him. Sethor screwed up his courage, made sure he was firm in the saddle, and kicked the flank of his horse to make it run.  
Relevon noticed Sethor riding swiftly towards him, a look of determination on his face and his rapier drawn. He watched as Striosis kicked a Varg flat in the face, and as the Varg rolled along the ground until it was positioned directly in front of Sethor. He reached forward, yelling for Sethor; bending low in his saddle should he need to close his eyes at the nasty and likely fatal fall.  
Sethor watched as the very surprised looking Vargouille flung itself over Relevon the second after he ducked, and sped along towards Sethor. Sethor let out a cry as he deftly skewered the Vargouille, causing the creature to emit a loud shriek, and then fall silent. Unfortunately the horse then hit the head on the ground, causing Sethor to lose his grip and go flying over the horses' head and onto the forest floor. He stared up into the air only to notice the final Vargouille surveying the scene, and disappear into the canopy. Sethor heard something hit the ground next to him and turned his head to see what it was.  
The other Vargouille Striosis had been fighting now lay barely a meter in front of Sethor, its eyes closed and thick blood oozing slowly from its eyes and mouth. He got up quickly, startled by the appearance of the creature. He breathed quickly, and walked over to his horse to inspect it. The horse appeared alright, but that was now the least of their problems.  
"Let us get moving gentlemen, that last bastard stayed out of our reach and left to get more. We need to get out of this darkness before they get back."  
  
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"This would be the place."  
"Why did you let me live? I thought I failed your test?"  
"You only did poorly, I should have suspected their would not be any more true high bloods anymore."  
"This is a temple of Nerull!"  
"Indeed it is, keep moving."  
"But, NO! I don't want to go!"  
Shereth grabbed Maier, his gloved hands gripping her tighter than she thought humanly possible. Maier thought the circulation to her hands was starting to be cut off.  
"You're hurting me."  
"Maybe that will get you to stop your incessant talking."  
They both went into the darkness of the temple. The sounds of the celebration outside died as soon as they crossed the threshold. Maier saw the celebration of the scythe as nightmarish as she predicted, with Necromancers outside selling their undead as slaves and hideous sacrifices being performed in all manners. Maier wondered what kind of corrupt government would allow such practices to flourish and damned them to the hell they belonged to.  
"Good, are you sure all the Clerics are dead?"  
"Yes priest, they are."  
Maier stopped to look at this lady that met them just inside the boundaries of the temple. Her lips were full and violet, her elf skin was as dark as the night outside.  
"Meet Ballea, Il'Laquar's chosen Assassin."  
Ballea bowed, her long flowing clothing stretching around her like an ancient web.  
"Unfortunately I could not extract the location of the Dwarven Rune. It seems not even the High Priest of the temple knew of its existence."  
"Sad state of affairs. Has your bodyguard gone into the catacombs below to find it then?"  
"Yes, Brutus is down there, shall we join him?"  
Shereth dragged Maier forward, towards a statue of Nerull.  
"I warn you that I have not had a chance to remove ANY of the traps."  
"Come then, we will need your help."  
"As you wish, I will send Brutus back up should we find him."  
Shereth dragged Maier through an Illusion covering the portal into the catacombs, revealing the passageway for barely a moment. Bellea watched as Shereth disappeared into the dark, shrugged her shoulders, and followed him into the madness beyond. 


	10. Poisonous Deeds in the Dungeon

Can't you feel the tension mounting? By the way, Technical Note: Oops, Vargouilles have wings! Eek forgot and just had those levitating, ah well, just pretend. (Suddenly the DM pops out from behind a tree and glues wings to the Vargouilles. The Vargouilles bites the DM; the DM smacks the heck out of the Vargouilles for leaving home without his wings.)  
After this chapter, I need a quick break, so I'm putting up another characters sheet! (Yes, I do technically have every characters sheet already made, including Shereths. But you are going to have to be VERY devoted readers in order to get that far by sending in reviews)  
One more thing (I feel like I'm giving a speech here), if you use any materials from this story in your own games, please do so! I just ask that you tell me, that way I can feel all warm and fuzzy inside for sharing the story with everyone here. Also, if anyone draws the characters presented here, please tell me, I would love to see them simply to ogle over the amazing artwork. ************************************************************************  
  
Bellea watched the Minotaur pace around in the corridor in front of her. It seemed anxious about something, and she didn't know what.  
"Grump, Grethnal le bes shorlea?"  
"Shush Brutus, I'm working here."  
The Half-Ogre simply stood there dumbfounded, watching lazily as its mistress took a dart out of her satchel. She pressed two fingers to her full lips, kissing them delicately. A lime green vapor passed from her lips to her fingers, wrapping around them, misty tendrils dancing through the air. Bellea pressed the two fingers against the dart, and watched as they imbedded the dark magic into its surface; as the Mist burned the Magical Symbol for poison into the darts side.  
Bellea leaned back over to peek into the room, and saw nothing.  
The Minotaur was no longer there.  
Bellea watched as Brutus fell to the ground beside her, a hulking Great axe sticking out of the small of his back. She jumped into the room she had previously been watching just as the Minotaur's horns connected with the wall where she once stood, causing mortared bricks to fall from the roof. Dust and gravel filled the air as the avalanche of stone stopped, leaving Bellea and the Minotaur alone together in the now sealed room.  
"I suppose you were waiting for me to turn my back?"  
Bellea brought her hands out to her sides, completely unarmed, her Drow eyes scanning the darkness for her next move. She turned around, waiting for the inevitable conclusion. She heard the Minotaur scream as the toxins in the dart took affect, and felt the floor shake slightly as the Minotaur fell to its knees. What she didn't imagine was that Brutus was just now crawling up the Minotaur's back, looking for a place to enter.  
When the Minotaur's wails of pain changed to screams of panic, Bellea turned around just in time to see the large scorpion-like creature imbed itself into the creature's neck. The sick sounds the process created made Bellea nauseous; the crunching noise as it tore through muscles and snapped the spinal cord in order to insert itself.  
"What the hell are you doing? I just infected that thing with Pershonlire!"  
The Minotaur's mouth moved sluggishly, but ineffectively. A mental cry of victory rang out in Bellea's mind.  
'I have triumphed Bellea! I have taken control of the Minotaur's body as its brain died. This body is mine!'  
Bellea shook her head, Brutus could be so idiotic about getting a body of his own, but this time he almost crossed the line. If the Pershonlire had infected him.  
Bellea didn't know what she would do if she lost him, and the people he represented.  
"Now too find a way out of here. We have made Shereth wait too long, and he may not be happy with us if we don't make good time."  
Brutus cried out weakly from his new body.  
'It will be awhile before I have full control.'  
"Great, just great."  
  
**************************  
  
The Seraphim Forest was fast growing old by the time Sethor could see moonlight. They had been chased by those flying beasts ever since they encountered the one group. Sethor was hoping for dawn to come soon as they drew closer to Gilleston, but it never did. It was a perpetual midnight, an omen Sethor didn't need. Then it hit him.  
"Relevon, what is today's date?"  
"Thirteenth moon of the Thirteenth Month."  
"Shit, it's the festival of the Scythe"  
Sethor did not look behind him as he brought his horse into a full gallop, the road before him clearly illuminated from the full moon. He had wandered about for too long in his journey, and now it may be too late. He cursed at the moon, and no longer wished for the sun to arise, knowing the pain it might bring him. 


	11. A Draught of Reality

Yes I promised another Characters sheet, but I really didn't like that last cliffhanger. Enjoy! ************************************************************************  
  
The moon was starting to set, and Sethor had gotten nowhere very quickly. The main festivities of the festival were already over, and the moving corpses that once littered the street were nowhere to be seen. Those villagers that now meandered along the streets were either so drunk they could not answer or they were the type that feasted upon the drunken. Now only the merchants of various trinkets remained, pandering to the drunk and the wicked.  
"Give it up my friend, there is nothing here for you to find."  
"Shove it Relevon, I don't have the time to explain things to you!"  
Relevon seemed slightly taken aback as Sethor snapped at him. He shrugged, turned around, and started to walk back towards the Inn he had purchased a room at earlier. Striosis did not follow, instead looking directly at Sethor, an accusing tone in his eyes.  
"I don't remember asking for your opinion either."  
Striosis melded into the shadows, leaving Sethor alone in the moonlight. Sethor wandered for a while longer, continuing his futile search. Before long he had entered the warehouse district, only glancing at the many carts headed for the slave auctioneers. No luck would be had; every slave had been sold that evening, none of them matching the description of his wife.  
Sethor eventually broke down, leaning against an iron wrought lamp post. He looked up at the stars that now began to fade and desired that he would die instead of his wife if need be. He closed his eyes and sighed, sinking down the pole until he simply lay there like the drunks around the tavern. His drink was more powerful than any of those found in a glass; tonight he would become drunk with hopelessness.  
A small being watched him from within a nearby alley.  
Sethor fiddled with the ring on his finger, losing himself to the memories. He didn't see the being move closer and closer, creeping along the ground as if with some great purpose. Its tail twitched as it came within five feet of him..  
  
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Relevon grabbed the mug and drank down the Backwaters Ale.  
"Hersh to ze friendz that we neber had, Sterioios."  
Striosis just sighed and continued to drink water, watching people go in and out of the tavern.  
"I reallliez loved dat goy. To badz we hafta leabe him."  
"Who said we had to leave him?"  
Relevon looked at Striosis, then looked back at his mug, taking another swig.  
"Becuz I can't hazle dat much emotienal instaibilizity."  
"I can."  
"You canz whatz?"  
"Forget it."  
"Alribt."  
Relevon stood up, and started over towards a group of silent men in the corner, probably to strike up an innocent conversation with them. Striosis sighed, he couldn't take too much more of this random wandering. 'Stick with what works' his mother told him. He wished he listened to her instead of joining the order.  
"Ah well, alls well that ends well."  
That's when Relevon made an unexpected return.  
Relevon landed on top of the table from the force of the zombies toss, spilling the drinks that had been piled there throughout the night. Most of them landed without hitting any other patrons, however one of them fly straight into the backside of a well-armored Dwarf. The bar became silent.  
The Dwarf stood, cold Backwaters Ale dripping thickly down its back. He turned around and examined the room. His eyes rested on Relevon, who was now standing slowly up from his awkward tumble. The Dwarfs beard reached nearly to the ground, stopping barely an inch above the floor. A throwing axe was strapped to each side of his immense bulk. He reached for an axe. Relevon simply fainted, falling back into the pile of wood that had once been the table. The Necromancers that he had attempted to talk with earlier now laughed, drawing the attention of the dwarf.  
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Myths would say the fire that consumed Gilleston Port that night was caused by the gods in retaliation of the rebirth of Felisto. Little did they know that it was all a coincidence, caused by a simple bar fight between a Dwarven Council member and the head of the local Necromancers guild.  
  
All Relevon remembered was that he had a really bad hangover the next morning, and Striosis had two black eyes and was sporting a broken arm. 


	12. A KoBold oppurtunity

Here we go again, time to meet another Hero-like character. Yes I know the story is getting somewhat sillier, but this is how it happened in the game. The drama will increase as we move on, don't worry. *************************************************************  
  
Sethor didn't notice the lizard-like creature stand up in front of him.  
"Pardon sire, you look lost, do you need help?"  
Sethor looked up, and nearly jumped out of his skin. In front of him was a creature barely three feet in height, with a long reptilian snout.  
"No. err. I'm fine." Sethor looked at him for a few more seconds. "What do you want?"  
"Just to help a nonbeliever find a religion. I know a temple you could stay at; the clerics there will fix you up real good, maybe take you away from the bottle that put you in this gutter in the first place."  
"But."  
"I won't hear it, now stand!"  
Sethor stood, looking down at the Kobold, entirely perplexed by its actions. The Kobold reached for Sethor's hand, grabbed the edge of a finger, and started to pull him forward. Sethor felt compelled to follow him.  
"The High Priest will be so happy I found a soul to save! Albeit I was surprised when he said he wanted me to find a guttersnipe he could 'usher into a new life'. Things are looking so up! Maybe I will be promoted to be an actual Cleric now!"  
The optimistic Kobold was worse than Relevon.  
"Wait a minute. Usher into a new life?"  
"Don't worry, I was told to tell you it won't hurt a bit!"  
"Told by whom?"  
"The High Priest of Nerull."  
"You're a priest of Nerull? What do you mean not hurt? What do you mean by usher!?"  
"Oh boy, I get to help usher somebody!"  
"Now wait a minute I didn't say I."  
"You don't need to say anything other then thank you. This is so exciting!"  
Sethor was led by the hand through the streets of Gilleston, tuning out the chatter of the Kobold. Maybe this was the lead he needed! If nothing else the Temple of Nerull would know if his wife was scheduled for sacrifice at any of the other temples. Moments later Sethor stood in front of the Temple, watching the Kobold enter and not return for nearly twenty minutes. Sethor noticed a slight glow of fire from the Merchants District but paid no heed, instead watching the blackness of the entrance; waiting for the Kobold to come back. He came running.  
"Sir! All my fellow priests have disappeared! I don't know where they all went!"  
Sethor walked quickly into the temple. The Kobold was right, nothing remained of any of the Clerics except their empty sleeping cells and a recently abandoned altar. The Ceremonial Candles and daggers remained on their pedestal, waiting for the sacrifice that was promised to Nerull. Sethor turned back to the Kobold, motioning for him to come forward.  
"Come here little one. I think something has happened to your fellow priests. Did they ever tell you what to do should somebody attack the temple?"  
"They said to hide in the Catacombs. They were modified from the Tombs built for the council members underneath the city. The High Priest said they would be the best place to lay an ambush and slaughter our enemies."  
"I think that may be where they are now. If I help you find them, do you think you can convince your high Priest to help me?"  
The Kobold looked at him and grinned.  
"So you agree to be ushered into a new life."  
Sethor sighed.  
"NO. I want to know if he has knowledge of the other temples sacrifices and tell me if one of them has my wife!"  
The Kobold looked hurt, and scraped his long talon toes across the floor.  
"I guess he may. . . I really wanted to help somebody though."  
"You know how to fight?"  
The Kobold looked up, his eyes full of fire. He jumped up onto the altar and raided the sacrificial tray, arming himself with the long serrated knife.  
"I guess you do."  
*****************  
  
Sethor nearly slammed his head against the wall on multiple occasions. The Kobold had no idea where the Catacombs entrance was, and his running commentary and vicious snarling at flickering shadows was getting annoying. There was no way to find the mechanical trapdoor, every nook and cranny was dark.  
"Enough already! How would you not know where the Catacomb entrance is?"  
"All I was told was to look towards Nerull should the temple be invaded."  
"I guess that's as close as you could get to shoving your head between your legs and."  
Then Sethor got an idea.  
"Quiet pipsqueak, I need silence for this to work."  
The Kobold watched as Sethor stood erect and cleared his voice. Pore had never seen magic before and he was sure that this friendly man was going to perform some. He hoped it didn't involve fire or hurting anyone.  
Sethor started singing slowly, practically speaking each syllable in exact detail. He turned towards the door, determined that he would start his examination there. The air from his mouth became tinged with a light blue, highlighting each dust particle that the air traveled across. The air reached the door and seemed to strike against it, dissipating. There was no visible change. Sethor slowly moved his head as he sang, sending the blue streams of air across the room, touching each object with an aura visible only to him. The air flitted towards two candles, and Sethor nearly stopped singing as they created a halo of energy around them, a halo representative of the magic they contained. Sethor continued to sing, directing the magical aura against the walls, pillars, anything that might contain magic. Suddenly his breath hit a statue of Nerull that was hidden in an alcove to the side of the temple. The blue air crawled its way across the stand the statue stood on, outlining what looked to be an opening of some sort. The blue outline swiftly became indigo, and then a light violet. This was what he was looking for.  
Sethor stopped singing and went over to the two magic candles that he saw earlier. They both kept their aura, which had been turned black by the Necromantic Magic which created them. Sethor decided not to touch the candles, instead he walked towards the statue.  
"Ready to go little fella?"  
The Kobold gave a menacing growl and moved towards the statue, waving the ceremonial dagger into the air. Sethor turned back towards the door. If his wife was still out there she would want him to help the gods first, as they would provide. Sethor made a bitter face. Maybe the gods would provide, but they also would take; hopefully he could take what he wanted from the High Priest before it was too late. 


	13. Intermission Character Profile: Relevon

Bonus for all the Reviewers, take a look at the stats for one of the adventures characters (As the story progresses I may update a character sheet, so check back occasionally to see what the characters are up to if the story may hint at them gaining a level! Also, the further in, the more interesting the characters will be for the character sheets):  
  
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Relevon Greenrobe  
  
Class: Rogue Level 6, Druid Level 1  
  
Race: Human  
  
Alignment: CN  
  
Level: 7  
  
Deity: None  
  
Size: medium  
  
Age: 40  
  
5'2" Male with Brown eyes and brown hair, Paled skin and occasional colored stained patches on his body  
  
Statistics:  
  
Str: 12(+1) Dex: 18(+4) Con: 15(+2) Int: 15(+2) Wis: 17(+3) Chr: 12(+1) (used +1 bonus at lvl. 4 on Wis)  
  
Hp: 6D6 + 1D8 (Assumed Max HP for story purposes) 56 Hit Points  
  
AC: 16 (+4 Dex, +2 Deflection)  
  
Initiative: +4  
  
Saves: Ref:+9Fort:+6Will:+7  
  
Melee Attack Bonus: +5Ranged Attack Bonus: +8  
  
Skills: Concentration +7, Heal +7, Knowledge (Nature) +6, Wilderness Lore +7, Swim +5, Profession (Alchemist) +7, Alchemy +7, Appraise +12, Craft (Poison) +7, Craft (Medicine) +7, Diplomacy +11, Intuit Direction +13, Use Magic Device +11.  
  
Feats: Combat Reflexes, Point Blank Shot, Far Shot, Dodge  
  
Rogue Abilities: Rogue Weapon & Armor Proficiencies/ Sneak Attack (+3D6)/ Evasion (Ref. allows for no Damage instead of half)/ Uncanny Dodge Lvl. 6 (Immune to Flat-foot and flanking.)  
  
Druid Abilities: Nature Sense/ Animal Companion (Does not currently have one, nor does he realize he can get one)/ Druid Spells (Cannot Cast Lawful spells, Does not realize he has access to Druid Spells)/ Druid Weapon & Armor Proficiency  
  
Spells Per Day:   
  
Equipment: (Note: Due to Druidic equipment limits and Rogue equipment Limits, Relevon refuses to even think about donning heavy equipment and armor.)  
  
Backpack (Large): Blanket, Winter/ Caltrops (X2)/ Candle (x2)/ Flint and Steel/ Oil (1-pint flask)(x2)/ Soap (1 lb.)/ Potion Vial (Empty)(x20)/ Waterskin/ Torch (x2)/ Alchemists Lab/ Healers Kit/ Scale, Merchant's/ Noble's Outfit/ Peasent's Outfit/ Trail Rations (Multiple Days Worth)/ 4 Cases Crossbow Bolts (40 Bolts)  
  
Bedroll/ Tent/ Sunrod (x4)/ Smokestick (x3)/ Acid (flask)(x2)/ Alchemist Fire (x8)/ Antitoxin (x3)  
  
Shortspear: (+5 Attack) 1D8+2 (20, x3) 20 ft. (40 with far shot) thrown Large Piercing  
  
Light Crossbow: (+8 Attack) 1D8 (19-20/x2) 80 ft. range (120 with far shot) Small Projectile Piercing  
  
Cloak of the Pegasus (Major Magical Item)(Cloak)  
  
The Cloak of the Pegasus is made of finely woven Pegasus Hair, and occasionally is seen with Black Pegasus feathers woven into the mantle. The Cloak allows the wearer to cast detect good and detect evil spells at will within a 60-yard radius, as the spells cast by a 5th level sorcerer. The Cloak also gives the wearer a +5 bonus to Handle Animal checks when handling a pegasus while wearing it. Gives a +2 AC Deflection bonus to the wielder.  
  
History Not Revealed in Story:Relevon was born in a small woodland village to a woodcutter and a low level ranger. Relevon's parents died in a fire while he was young, forcing him to live in the woods for a short while before being adopted by an Orc Druid. The Druid initiated Relevon into the order small step by small step; so gradually Relevon didnt even notice it himself. Much to the dismay of the Druid, Relevon left without realizing his full potential; instead going to an Alchemical school that soon after closed down, leaving Relevon pennyless and without friends. Clinging to his prized Pegasus hair cloak (Given to him by his old druid mentor before leaving) Relevon set out on an adventure to hone his talents, meeting the Monk Striosis and several others on the way. Unfortunatly Relevon cant seem to make up his mind about what he wants to do in life, leaving behind friends wherever he goes in search of himself. (His alignment is CN due to his carelessness in friends and lack of commitment to anything, changing his mind like the wind.) 


	14. Entering the Dungeon

By the By, if you are wondering about what spell Sethor used, it was Detect Magic. The DM for the game insisted Divine/Druid/Arcane/Bard spells look different, and that each player have a slightly different looking magic. Not only that, but the DM allowed players to ignore spell- components if their method of casting the spell was original enough (And made sense). Enjoy this next chapter, which takes us deeper into the catacombs beneath Gilleston.  
  
As soon as Sethor stepped through the illusionary wall, he no longer felt the floor under his feet. Soon he could see the walls moving upwards, and felt the light-headed feeling from falling. Then he could not see, and could only hear the sound of the screaming Kobold which has grabbed hold of his head and would not let go. The plummet downwards through the darkness ended with a loud 'thud' and several 'crunches', which caused him little concern as he blacked out.  
When he came to, Sethor found he had not damaged anything; his head was cushioned by a rather soft reptile.  
"What the hell!"  
Sethor stood up quickly, and examined the Kobold which he landed on.  
"Maybe I'm free of this annoying creature?"  
Sethor had no such luck; the Kobold started moaning seconds afterwards, mentioning something under his breath about never wanting to adventure again. Sethor picked up the little Kobold and placed him on his feet, wiping the excess dust off of his own tunic with his other hand.  
"We are alive?"  
"Yes we are."  
The Kobold looked up at the tunnel they had fallen down and grimaced. His eyes scanned the darkened chamber, looking for something. He licked his lips and went after something in the darkness. Sethor watched as the Kobold came back into the light, wielding the long dagger he had grabbed from the ceremonial tray in the temple.  
"You're lucky neither of us landed on that thing."  
The Kobold shrugged and once again bounded off into the darkness, coming back this time with a large, unwieldy torch. The Kobold attempted to hand the torch to Sethor, but was surprised when instead Sethor picked up a nearby rock.  
"It would take to long to light that, I have a more effective method we could use."  
Sethor once again started to sing, a song slightly more calming then the previous one. Pore the Kobold felt as if some inner part of his soul was being enlightened, as if something was bringing a light and illuminating his perceptions. Pore liked this magic; it gave him a much nicer feeling then the magic of the gods he had previously seen.  
Sethor sang to the rock, and as he did so, the rock began to glow a dull white. The light grew stronger until Sethor had finished his song, at which point the rock itself seemed to begin to hum the melody; emitting a low hum along with the bright glow that now enveloped it.  
"Would you like to hold it?" Sethor offered, shoving the rock in Pore's direction. Pore was delighted, and jumped up and down with it cradled in his arms. Sethor simply looked on, amused. "By the way, what is your name?"  
"Pore, but the other priests called me little-skull."  
"I think I'll stick with Pore."  
Sethor started off into a nearby passage, Pore barely a step behind.  
  
********************************************************  
  
"So this is the temple of the forebear of Nerull. Not very impressive."  
Shereth lurched forward into the center of the chamber. It was a large circular room with rounded walls and a domed ceiling, completely smooth to the touch. In the center of the room stood the sacrificial altar, a stone slab as barren and smooth as the room itself.  
"I guess it will do. Come Brutus, bring in our victim."  
The large minotaur moved stiffly into the room, moving as if it has never walked before. Behind him was a drow in a flowing black gown, with hair as black as a raven.  
"For heavens sake Brutus, you'll fall if you keep walking like that."  
'You're lucky I'm moving at all. I have to use parts of the brain that I never had to worry about before. I even have to think about when to breath. Not only that but I think the host is hungry."  
"We'll worry about food later, but for now we need to move on."  
Shereth stopped before he reached the altar, motioning for Bellea to come forward.  
"My dear assassin, I think there is something here you should look at."  
Sethor pointed at an engraving on the side of the altar. Bellea looked puzzled.  
"That would be the rune we are looking for but why did the High Priest say that he didn't know where it was even though he knew the way into the sanctum?"  
"Because that isn't the rune. Look, there are metal balls in the center where we are, four of them to be exact."  
"Look, there are some rolling along in one of the notches. Two of them in fact."  
Shereth looked at Bellea, she hated when some form of emotion played across his face. The lidless holes where his eyes used to be gave her the shivers; they never showed any emotion other then anger. His dry toothless smile of maniacal evil even gave her pause. She was dealing with something that was no longer human, no longer wished to be human, but still clung to his humanity as a way of inflicting the pain caused to him.  
"You winced dear youth. The daughters of Il'Laquar should be strong, how many times have I told you that?" Shereth reached his gloved hand towards her face, brushing the bottom of her chin and bringing his hand up along towards her ears. She swatted it away.  
"Touch me again and I will make sure your soul will spend eternity in hell."  
Shereth just grinned, his mouth empty of all but dust.  
"Much like that dear husband of yours? He is still in the deep sleep isn't he? I wonder just what happened to him. I bet the authorities at your home would love to know as well."  
All Bellea could do was look at Brutus, who must have been hard pressed to keep his face straight as well. If Shereth knew what her husband really was, Brutus wouldn't be here now.  
Shereth continued.  
"If my assumptions are correct, then those metal balls are symbols of us, and those two moving in our direction"  
"Are intruders, yes?"  
Shereth grinned, motioning for Brutus to drop the unconscious Maier onto the table.  
"We have the element of surprise, and at sunrise we shall see exactly what this rune can do." 


	15. Trial by Blood

Hey everyone ~Taps Monitor~ is anyone there? Once again I'm asking for a sign from the gods (My Reviewers). Just show me there is someone still reading this and I'll be happy. By the by, when you review, you can leave a request for the next Interim character sheet. Also, this chapter meet a house monster! (Stats will be given next chapter) ***************************************************  
  
"Sunrise. Thank Pelor for the sunrise"  
Inestron ran through the forest, carrying the body of the child. She had fainted of exhaustion not long before, and he did not dare wait in the shadows. They should have caught up to the other priests by now, but they were nowhere in sight. He knew it was folly to stay behind and comfort the villagers during the festival of the scythe, but upon seeing their scared faces, he had no choice. Now he chased the rest of the priests to the hidden temple, where they could stay just in case something big happened. Either he was lost, not likely, or they were lost, try again.  
The sun was starting to come upon the far horizon, shedding light on a glade before him. He stopped, and stared at the carnage. Wagons were tossed about the glade like toys, wheels still spinning as if the battle took place just recently. The bloodstained white robes lay scattered across the field, the bodies beneath them covered only slightly. The ground in the center of the field was as if a pond, no, a lake of blood. It had all pooled their, as If something had drained every nearby body and deposited the collected blood into the ditch in the center of the glade.  
"Oh my."  
Kelia stirred from her sleep. Eyes fluttering open, placing her arms around Inestron's neck. The eyes closed back into sleep, immune to Inestron's look of terror. Inestron went back to the side of the glade and placed Kelia down. She did not need to see what had transpired. He went back to the lake of blood.  
"Come out whoever you are, I command it."  
Nothing happened, not even the birds made a sound. Inestron skirted the pond, trying to stare into its depths, nothing budged.  
"You did this to us."  
Inestron turned around, and came face to face with what was one of the corpses that had at one point, been lying in repose on the ground. There was no emotion in either appearance or voice, but the presence still terrified him. It was if something was manipulating the body, playing with the strings of a corpse.  
"He's right."  
Inestron turned around to see another body across the lake of blood, waving to him in a grim mockery of life. Inestron opened his clenched fist, a large pole with a heavy flail attached to each end materializing within it; a dire flail.  
"Please let us rest."  
"Yes please."  
Now all the corpses were standing as best they could, some leaning upwards from the ground. None of them moved as long as he looked at them, but as he turned away; they seemed to move closer and closer. Inestron closed his eyes and screamed.  
"By Pelors name, disband! I shall fight you and I shall win!"  
He opened his eyes. They were all gone, even the corpses that once littered the glades floor had disappeared.  
"What in the world?"  
He turned around just in time to see the humanoid looking creature looking as if it were made of blood stab at him with a Halberd. The lake of blood was gone, and in its place something that reminded him of an elemental. It did not ooze, nor did it drip the liquid that it consisted of; instead it seemed to flow, to have constant rivers of blood play across its body like the tide. The Halberd connected with Inestron, leaving a wound that bled, showing no signs of stopping.  
The blood creature then went beserk, it attempted to run up to Inestron and grab the place the blood ran from, touching him where the blood flowed. It grabbed hold, and Inestron felt the life flowing from him through the wound. He grew dizzy. There was only one thing left to do.  
Inestron let out a scream of pain as he lifted his arms towards the sky. He screamed, and released into the air the full power of Pelor. The Sky itself seemed to crack open, a beam of light engulfing the area through the night. It was as day, and the amulet of Pelor shined brightly, reflecting the light that beat down upon the glade. The light was pure, it was holy, and through it Inestron invoked the power to turn the undead creature that now assaulted him. He grabbed his amulet and swung it, hitting the surface of the blood creature. His hand went straight through the creature's body, the amulet burning its way through the blood. A painful scream filled the air, followed by silence. The world became dark once again. The creature was no more.  
Kelia continued to sleep peacefully. Inestron stumbled beside her.  
"I guess you have the right idea."  
Inestron fell asleep beside Kelia, the glade beyond silent, filled only with broken wagons. 


	16. Fighting the Inevitable

Sorry, I promised the stats for the Blood Legionnaire, but I'm gonna wait for the next intermission. Thanks for the reviews! Also, if you've noticed, I changed the title of the previous chapter simply because I want that title for later. **********************************************************  
  
The tunnel was silent, and Sethor was completely lost now. Pore was losing strength fast and he had a gut instinct that he was in danger, but he did not know where the danger came from. The tunnels themselves seemed to pulse with dark intentions; whispering to Sethor as he breathed. Talking to him in a muted voice as he spoke, jumbling the results of both. It was unnerving to say the least.  
"Are you okay sire? You look lost in your mind. Do you need help?"  
Sethor listened as Pore spoke. There was something there, a faint sound mixed in with Pore's words. Talking to him at the same time, using Pore's breath to speak.  
"Whoever you are, stop with this right now! If you wish to speak with us, then do so!"  
Pore stared at Sethor, examining him from head to toe. This did not look like a madman, but who knew these days. Even then, Pore thought he would keep quiet just to keep Sethor happy. Sethor looked about, and as the tunnels stopped echoing his yell, calmed down enough to start moving again.  
  
They walked for awhile longer, keeping silent as they trudged through the lightless chambers. Sethor stopped when Pore ran up ahead, motioning for Sethor to stay where he was. Sethor waited, and before long Pore came back, bearing a large grin on his face.  
"There is a neat chamber up ahead. It is a shrine to the god who used to be in charge of this temple. He is retired now, and has become a part of Nerull. The shrine should be safe."  
Sethor nodded. Not much else to do unless they wanted to backtrack; and even then he had no idea where they had come from in relation to this chamber.  
The chamber was a thing of beauty. The walls were pure carved Obsidian that reflected the light, bouncing life into every corner of the room. The roof and floor were made of metal, in a spiraling pattern towards the center of the room where stood a large Pearl Horn the size of a horse; positioned delicately on an Obsidian pillar. Sethor was dazzled by the instruments size; wondering what else other then a giant could plays its likely mystical notes. He wandered over to inspect the horn more closely.  
  
************************************************************  
  
Shereth looked closely at the engraving on the alter. Why hadn't the intruders made themselves known? They were, at least by the metal orbs, supposed to be in this very room. Something wasn't right, and Shereth tapped his stave against the ground in frustration. The ground rang every time he hit the stave against it, a metallic ping that reverberated throughout the entire room.  
  
************************************************************  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
Pore was known attached to Sethor's leg, having jumped there when the large metallic ring could be heard from above. Sethor shook Pore off, and continued to examine the horn.  
The buttons and levers were all made for human sized hands, eliminating a giant from possible users. But what if it was never meant to leave the shrine? What could have been so important as to cause the old religion to build a horn of this size in a place where it probably would never be found? 'Shut up and blow the damn horn.' Sethor thought to himself. And he did.  
  
************************************************  
  
Shereth jumped as he heard the horn from below, and watched terrified as the floor retracted from the sides of the temple. The smooth edges of the floor and wall now separated, showing the floor to be some sort of metal plate. He leaned over the edge of the moving floor, and was surprised to see several layers of the moving plates. He looked up to see that the ceiling was moving in the same fashion, retracting into a circle barely 12 feet in diameter. Bellea and Brutus were nowhere to be seen, probably still somewhere in the catacombs where he could leave them when all this was over. Shereth stood next to the altar in the center of the room, calling upon his powers to assist him. Skeletal wings sprouted from his back and then faded away; leaving behind an ethereal force he used to take to the air. Flying through the air, Shereth saw a very confused looking human and Kobold, with the humans lips still attached to the horn he heard earlier.  
  
************************************************  
  
Sethor released his lips from the horn and said something unintelligible. The noise from the retracting floor reduced anything he said to rubbish. Then he noticed something coming from the air above him.  
  
************************************************  
  
Shereth finished his dive and came back up gripping Sethor's clothing very tightly. He stared at the bard's eyes, and when he saw no fear, grinned. Shereth loosened the glove on the hand he wasn't using, watching it as it dropped into the abyss. Shereth reached slowly reached for Sethor's face. Sethor couldn't of anything, and finally hung limply in Shereth's grip. His hands twiddled nervously with his ring, and didn't realize that in the process he turned it around, revealing a pattern of a sun on the palm side. Sethor lost consciousness.  
Shereth tried to look into Sethor's eyes again, but this time his vision was blurred; as if a piece of thin paper was being put in between him and his target. He felt something bump up against his hand, pushing it away from his victim. The Bard was surrounded by a bubble of force, and Shereth was no longer holding onto him. The Bard fell, and Shereth tried to follow him, but his target was falling faster. Faster. He was into the darkness before long, still falling. Shereth watched as the Kobold fell past him, following the Bard into the darkness.  
  
"Ah well, too bad for the intruders."  
Shereth went back up and prepared for the ceremony, pushing the encounter out of his mind by wondering how the floor plates levitated in the air. 


	17. Assaulted by the Past

Ermm. The latter part of this chapter is. graphic and if you would rather skip this PG-13 borderline R part then go ahead, just warning you.  
  
~ There was nothing. Then there is life. It was as if the process of dying was reversed. The light of nothingness is at your back, almost pushing you along. As if death no longer wished your embrace. The cold nether winds that sucked you in now expel you onto the cold, hard shores of reality. Nothing is the same.  
  
Sethor knew that he was born, and watched as the memories of death leaked away from his infantile body. There was now life; there was no need to cling to the heavens or hell. Sethor watched and yet participated in this obscene ritual, both watching from spirit and experiencing from body what is the miracle of creation. He watched as the blurred figures that were his parents coddled the newborn, coddled Sethor.  
  
As Sethor watched the scene began to grow more blurred, and he felt the winds of death that had at one point expelled him onto the earth. They now pulled at his soul, forcing him forward. Sethor reached out to the vision but saw no more, reaching instead out into the nether that surrounded him. He cried out to be returned to the past, but his voice had no power, he had no hope.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Shereth stood at the edge of the altar, a long dagger reaching downwards towards Maier's chest. He was smiling as best he could, the bandages around his mouth transforming the cruel features into a grim mockery of death itself. The sun had risen and now barely touched the horizon. Now was the time, now fate would give him what he desired, would give Il'Laquar what she desired. Shereth plunged the dagger downwards, and pulled the dagger back up. It dripped. Shereth once again plunged it down again. The crunch filled Shereth with elation. There was no scream, but the eyes were open; the fear that filled them was slowly draining into nothingness. Shereth stabbed again. Again. Again. Blood now flowed freely from the wounds, dripping down the sides of the altar. The blood filled the rivulets of the Dwarven Rune etched on the side, and Shereth's grin widened as it began to glow a dull crimson. The tip of the blade had broken off now, inserted somewhere in the corpse. He stopped, stabbed the body one last time, and stood back. Now too wait.  
  
Bellea watched from her perch right outside the doorway, she turned away and muttered a quick prayer for the departed soul. She motioned for Brutus to follow her, starting to try and find her way back through the catacombs. She would leave all this behind.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
Sethor knew something was wrong. The currents that drew him along his journey had stopped, and he floated amidst the Nether, examining the pinpricks of light in the distance. He let himself drift, until he saw another vision. Now he was a child, playing with the orphans he had called his friends before joining the performers. They were innocent, and he laughed at the antics he was a part of: tossing people into ponds, earning extra money in the workhouse, playing pranks on his parents.  
  
That stopped him. His parents. He remembered nothing, but yet the memories now played on, as they were part of some hidden record locked away long ago. He watched as they tried to raise him, but he wouldn't listen even at his young age. He watched as his father, a cleric of Pelor, left to go to battle against some unknown agent of darkness. He watched as his father returned a broken man, who died of a shattered soul. His mother died soon after, leaving him alone. The High Priest his father had campaigned with turned his nose up at Sethor's requests for help and training.  
  
The High Priest stood in front of him, sneering at him.  
  
"The great god Pelor doesn't care for snooty little brats whose fathers kill themselves. Your father did us all a favor, now go crawl into a hole and die like the insect you are."  
  
Sethor cried out, and doing what he could not do then, pushed the vision of the Cleric over, and pummeled him. The vision dematerialized in Sethor's hands, leaving Sethor once again in the nether, now crying; balled into a fecal position. He watched as his performer friends crawled by on hands and knees; burned, battered, nothing more then skeletons. They blamed him for leaving them, for not dying with them.  
  
"Why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve this?"  
  
Then the visions stopped, and Sethor found himself on the ground in an all too familiar clearing. There were no sounds; the wind did not blow. In the distance, the ashes of a town were visible, the carcass of a recently burned carcass. 


	18. Changing the Past, Deciding the Future

Sorry for the wait, I get busy sometimes. I'm going for a longer chapter this time, since I have the time to go a little further with it. I also give a nod to a really good DND romance fic. and a wedding ceremony used in it. It's called Fated Returns and I suggest you read it. It is written by Lady Zeia. Note: With this section, the DM asked the hero to play alone, and the other players got a chance to play some head games with him. We hid a microphone in the room, and whenever he said something that might warrant a response, the "ethereal chorus" chimed in. Of course, it didn't hurt that it was a dark, stormy night outside with thunder and lightning. I won't insult your intelligence by saying this story is exactly how that session went.. Let me just say this is the dramatized version modified for story purposes. Once again, Enjoy! *******************************************************************  
  
There was no movement. it was as if he had stumbled into a well painted mural. The leaves were still, and Sethor did not even hear the crickets that made their home in the forest. Even when the town burned he could hear their chirps, blending with the occasional screams coming from the village that echoed throughout his memories. He realized that this was not a memory, this was real.  
Sethor breathed deeply, placing his hand on his rapier. It wasn't there. He looked down at his clothing and realized it had changed as well, becoming the fancy robes he wore for storytelling; robes he had burned years ago. Sethor shook his head, closed his eyes, mentally wishing for this to end. He wished to die.  
  
~Only when you decide it is the right time.  
  
Sethor stopped, where did the voices come from? The voices combined to create and almost ethereal chant that reminded Sethor of the winds on a dark night.  
"He. Hello?"  
Sethor stood dumbfounded, shaking his head once he realized his foolishness. He was hearing voices now, on top of the madness of dying.  
  
~You are not dead. You have been given the chance to make a new decision.  
  
Sethor nearly jumped out of his skin, and spun around to try and find the source of the voices. Voices were something he could live with, but ones that kept a running commentary? He wondered who was supposed to be speaking with him.  
~We are arbiters. We shall judge your decisions.  
Sethor decided to try and talk with the voices.  
"What decisions? Why are you judging me?"  
Silence.  
This was ridiculous! Sethor waited for what seemed like hours despite the fact that the sun never moved. It was eerie, as if time itself were waiting for him to make the first move. Sethor became stubborn, setting his jaw squarely in place. He sat down on the ground and waited for a response.  
"I'm waiting."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Sethor dug the 1,920, 304, 869 mark into the ground of the glade before he started to begin worrying. Not only had the sun not moved, but he had not felt even the slightest hunger pain. Sethor finally stood, his face a mixture of annoyance and confusion. This was not funny in the least, and he silently cursed every god he knew the name of. He carefully stepped around the marks in the ground, figuring he might as well leave something behind to mark where he had been. He started on the path towards the town, fuming about the situation. He had gone barely a mile, tracing the path he had taken so long ago, when he looked up and noticed the sun had moved in the sky..  
Sethor stopped when he reached the lamppost that marked the edge of the town; something was different, something he couldn't put his hands on.  
  
~ Keep moving.  
Sethor stood still, his eyes scanning the town. For a moment it seemed different; as if the memory had been remolded into a form unfamiliar to Sethor. He shrugged and moved forward, dodging broken timbre and smoldering lumber. He was close to the town square, and he knew what was in store for him. The sun was now on the opposite horizon, daylight fading from view. Soon he would encounter his nightmare and defeat it yet again.  
~ Will you?  
Sethor stopped for a second. Why wouldn't he?  
~ Because of what would happen if you do.  
Sethor became annoyed. "And what exactly does that mean?"  
  
The vision came quickly, hitting Sethor like a wave.  
  
*** The sky is dark, the sun barely visible behind a haze of clouds that have width but no depth. The surrounding terrain is barren of plants, starved of color. The world is grey, grey of both emotion and palette. The vision soars over dead forests, burning plains, drained swamps both far and wide, all grey. The oceans boil, corrosive enough to melt any ship that attempts to sail them. Spirits flit about the skies, searching for souls. In some places what once was ground is now covered in blood, blood recognizable for its color despite the grey around it. Armies flow and ebb from the blood, swarming what remains of life, devouring it to renew their pact. The vision shows the hole in the sky, a swirling grey vortex from which pours souls of every description; as if the gates of Hades were swung open for every evil being to escape. Through the portal is a temple, a single large room completely covered by silver hair. A single skeleton lies in the center. It smiles.  
It smiles at Sethor, and in his mind he hears two words..  
"Thank you." ***  
  
Sethor was on the ground now, watching as the shadow lifted its hand to drain away his life force. He was in tears, no longer an adult but the youth of fifteen. Blood poured from his nose, his arms and legs burned from sifting through the hot embers of the town, searching for his friends. He was unarmed, tears streaming from his face.  
~ Die now and you save the world. Live and you may yet be its downfall.  
Sethor understood and simply gave up. The claw of the shadow came closer, the grave and amulet visible behind the transparent talons. This was it. He would never have to watch his wife die, never have to watch as his daughter would be overcome by the grayness. He would save the world, simply by never existing.  
~Are you ready for the judgement?  
Sethor couldn't answer, he was afraid. He hid within his memories.  
  
*** Sethor stood in front of a young Inestron, accepting the ring in exchange for the amulet and the news. He had intended to sell it, but eventually grew attached to it. Maybe he was afraid of forgetting?***  
~The church would have found out eventually, and you would have been given a proper funeral when they came to investigate.  
  
*** Sethor stood at an altar, his wife Maier beside him. They stared longingly into each others eyes, and whispered romantic thoughts. Inestron went through the ceremony, binding them together using a cord of rope, asking them a question each time he bound them together. They did not listen, answering that they would forever be together..***  
~She would have found someone else, and would not be dead.  
Dead.. So his wife was dead. Sethor fell deeper into despair.  
  
*** Sethor held the child in his arms, watching as the unfocused green eyes opened for the very first time. He gazed at his wife, and smiled. She smiled back before fainting away again; the midwife Omra grabbing the baby back and pushing both Sethor and Inestron out of the house. ***  
No response.  
  
*** Kelia was away as Sethor played his lyre. A feeling came to him, the strings broke, he knew she was in danger. Kelia danced away the night, playing with a parentless Satyr who came to Maier for help. Kelia watched from the balcony of a forest temple, singing softly to the moon, waiting for someone to come rescue her. Kelia swung a gleaming sword, her hair wild in the sunlight as she fought against an army of blood. Kelia prayed softly at a shrine hidden deep within a temple, her tears flowing for an unknown love..***  
Kelia. What of her?  
  
~Are you ready to be judged?  
Sethor watched as the Shadow placed its hand on his body, felt the life force draining from his soul. He stared through the shadow, watching the blurred amulet swing lightly in the wind. Sethor reached for the amulet, strained his arm towards it, prayed for it to come closer. He dropped his arm; it landed on a rapier he did not notice was beside him. He picked it up, and in a last ditch effort threw it at the Shadow. It passed undisturbed through the Shadow, but as it soared through the air, it struck the amulet, knocking it within Sethor's grasp. Sethor grabbed the amulet, lifted it up in front of him, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. The shadow backed off, its hands flailing in front of its face, flying backwards away from the amulet. Sethor moved forward, running as fast as he could, the amulet held in both hands in front of him. He rammed into the Shadow, which melted as soon as the amulet touched its Ethereal Form.  
Sethor fell to his knee's, and fainted.  
  
"Let the world be as I left it. My daughter will live and know love, she will know that I loved her. That is all I want."  
  
~You will let all die for the sake of one?  
  
"I will not let one die for the sake of all.."  
  
And then there was silence. 


	19. Part 2: Change in the Wind

"Pelor, god above us all, I call to thee, respond to the prayers of the meek!"  
Inestron stood alone amidst the darkness, watching the horizon, and waiting. He had been waiting for a long time, years even, for Pelor the sun to answer his prayers. But yet the horizon remained dark.  
The tower was dark, the temple was dark, and for him the night would never end. He could feel the night closing around him, his breath icy and visible in the air before him. He was alone in the world now, a hermit caring for the daughter of someone long dead. Yes, the father had died years ago, amidst the tombs beneath a far away city. But the daughter... through her Sethor the Ray of Pelor would live.  
Inestron sighed and leaned forward against the stone parapets of the tower, praying to whoever could hear to save them all. His once striking hair had turned to grey, and he could no longer keep up with Kelia. He could hear the dangers of age coming upon him, and worried what would become of the child once he was gone. Inestron took his amulet into his hands, a replica of the one returned to the church so many years ago. His fingers rubbed against its front, bringing him comfort. Nothing would separate him from his beliefs. The sun would rise again. Once again the wind picked up, rushing against the side of the tower and causing it to groan with the weight of time. Inestron watched as a lead floated within arms reach. He dared himself to pluck it out of the sky, to hold it for one last time and let it ago, along with his other duties.  
"Unlike you, the leaf will never let go of life."  
Inestron turned quickly, drawing his mace and raising it to strike at the unfamiliar voice. As he turned his head and looked towards the speaker, he slowed, and became frozen in place despite his surprise and anger of being disrupted.  
"Would you dare strike a god?"  
Before Inestron was an elderly Orc missing her right arm. Within her left was a weather beaten oak stave that was taller then her by several inches. Her entire body was covered by a nondescript brown cloak that billowed even when the wind did not blow. Inestron couldn't help but lower his mace, and simply watch as the Orc hobbled over to him, supporting herself on her stave.  
"Now that is better. I expected better from a protector of the light, but these are dark times, dark times indeed. Light must be wary, for it may very well be snuffed out."  
Inestron opened his mouth to ask the elderly Orc a question.  
"Who am I? Posh, I am everywhere. I am at your heels when you travel, I am what cools you in the middle of long, boring summer days."  
"You are wind?"  
"I am change."  
Inestron bowed his head in reverence of the goddess, placing his mace back into its loop. He had so many questions on his lips.  
"What has happened that would force a god to respond to another god's prayer?"  
The Orc rolled her eyes at Inestron, her speech directed as much towards the very stone as it was directed to Inestron.  
"Pelor cannot help anyone in this trial. Just as the sun cannot be in the same sky as the moon, so Pelor cannot face the darkness directly. Besides, Pelor is only a bystander in this little game."  
"A bystander?"  
"When a god gets it in their mind that another has spited them, all shall suffer. When a god goes mad with vengeance, there is no target, only casualties."  
"That is hardly fair."  
"No, it isn't."  
"Once again I ask, why are you..."  
"I am here because I am where change is. I visit you in place of Pelor because he cannot change, and thus cannot visit you."  
"Pelor has abandoned me?"  
"No, Pelor will never abandon his children. I can guarantee that may never change. I am here because you are changing, because the temple is changing, because the world is changing."  
"I am changing?"  
"Yes. That is why I answered your prayer."  
Inestron stood still, trying to absorb what the god was saying.  
"What will come of this change?"  
"Bah, everyone asks that. I am the goddess of good change. What do you think?"  
"I think that nothing is definite, including our fate."  
This caught the old Orc by surprise. She narrowed her eyes, still never looking directly at Inestron, and nodded.  
"You come across a crossroads. Do you stay and fight, or do you leave and live?"  
"What am I fighting?"  
"Fear."  
"What is my weapon?"  
"Hope."  
"There is no stronger weapon, why would I leave?"  
"Because you wish to protect the girl and her father."  
The father? Inestron puzzled over this.  
"I thought."  
"You are right."  
"Then he is?"  
"No, he is very alive."  
"But you just said..."  
The Old Orc once again rolled her eyes.  
"What, the goddess of change is not allowed to change her mind? You mortals are all the same. Soon something will happen and you must make up your mind. I can offer one consolation to staying; you will die proud of what you have done and in the arms of those you love. Give up your charge, and she will belong to another. She will not be your concern."  
The old Orc turned towards the opposite side of the tower and got up onto the ledge.  
"I still never caught your name."  
The Orc jumped, her robes trailing behind her, ribbons flying through the night wind. Inestron ran over to where she had jumped, and looked down, only to find nothing but a leaf floating slowly down. Inestron held a lead in his hands, looking at the seed pods he had not noticed before. Inestron placed the leaf on the ledge, and watched as the wind picked it up and dropped it downwards.  
"My lord?"  
Inestron turned around to find Kelia opening the trapdoor leading up to the tower.  
"Go back to bed, it is still too early."  
"It is never too early Inestron."  
Kelia took Inestron's hand, and led him to the towers center. She laid out a grass mat she had brought with her, and they both got upon their knee's. The rising sun greeted the two, hands folded in prayer, light shining upon their faces. The horizon brightened the tops of the trees, creating a golden carpet before their eyes. Birds slowly took to the air, and darkness was banished for awhile longer. 


End file.
